Stewart, Please!
by kirklame
Summary: After a night of messing around in Mefestio's lab, Kyle gets into a freak accident, turning himself into a girl. Now he must face the daily life of the average teenage girl; boys, make-up, shoes, health issues and romance. Genderbent!Kyle.
1. 17th May, 2005

**Chapter One – Major Swearing.**

17th May, 2005.

For my mother, I am writing a diary, this diary to be exact. Not that I really get a choice, she handed me this thick leather pad and informed me of what to do with it. She wants me to compare my 'old' life with my 'new.'

This is where I should explain, but first I will introduce myself, as that seems to be the thing you do when you begin a diary, right?

My name is Kyle Broflovski, or well was, I still have the Broflovski, unfortunately. My new name is Kyla, as simple and ugly as it is, it means victorious in Hebrew. Yet, this whole situation isn't victorious at all, unless you look at it from Kenny's point of view. Which I suggest you don't. Ever.

Yet, this is the situation at hand – if you haven't already figured it out – _I'm a girl. _Yeah, fun.** No.** I have had numerous girls dragging me around South Park's centre, making me buy stupid things like makeup, skirts and thigh highs. Thigh highs socks? I swear you only wear them if you do porn, but no, I now have about fifty pairs of them. Let's not even get onto my bras and Knickers. I am making that rule number one of this diary:

1. No talking about underwear (socks included).

It's because of Cartman and his fucking stupid plans. Fuck you, Cartman. I am _so _done with _you_.

**_Part One._**

I know it's not the most fabulous title you've probably heard, but this isn't fiction, it's a part of me, I suppose.

I was at Stan's, as per usual, we were playing on his PSX (which is **the shit**, if I can say) and Cartman and Kenny come knocking, talking us into this great plan to screw with Garrison, being the fucking spunk heads we are we decided_ "yeah, let's go on a own fucking adventure to fuck up Garrison's life._"

I'd apologise for the language but to be honest, I am so angry, that I couldn't possibly give less of a shit right now.

So we arrived on Mephisto's place, which is gigantic, the building is bigger than the town hall, and could probably rival our local hospital, Hell Pass. Although there isn't much greenery as the tall grey building hogs too much space.

None of us had really made it past the first room, because of rumours that Mephisto he hides deformed creatures that he has made inside, some with four giant fearful heads, and others with more than three sets of razor sharp teeth. The rumours had probably been created to scare unwanted trespassers, such as us. Yet, I pushed back all of the dreadful adrenaline that pumped through my veins and walked through the wicked archway that greeted us.

A thick distinct scent lingered throughout the place, not something you could identify with an object, but recognise. It's probably useless describing it as anything other than bleach and honey.

We wandered deeper and deeper into the building, coming across nothing but a lizard with a mutated wart where his bottom was. Yeah, we moved on pretty quickly after we saw that.

Soon, we entered a large hall, probably a room once used for holding balls, now in the centre stood a grand piece of machinery. I say grand, but I don't know how to explain it. Next to the 'grand' machinery stood a cage – well, when I say cage I mean more a section of flooring caged off – somehow, Cartman had lured me inside, better yet – I had gotten trapped inside.

Which to him, must had been fucking hilarious. It wasn't. Not one tiny _little_ bit.

I've decided that rule number two is going to be:

2. Talk about Eric Theodore Cartman as little as possible.

Kenny lent on the switch board, booting the machine up and before anything could be done; it shoot fire at me. It wasn't a bullet, nor a dart or arrow. It was a laser, pumping a thick red beam at me. It struck me instantly and brought me to the floor with an ear rattling scream.

I felt like I was being electrocuted, which I presumed I was at first. I felt the currents pump throughout my body, it stung as if I was slowly melting away. I jolted around before the pain became a screeching burn, I was jerking about, my body unable to control the bursts of radiation sprouting within me.

I heard them screaming my name, the cage rattling with their weight as they climbed over, but soon all the lasers cut out, I began to spasm, before blacking out completely.

What I awoke to was a quiet beep, it was stable and repetitive, but became annoying quickly, ripping numerous leads of my body before the beeping cut out. I grumped and turned over, not enjoying the thinness of my duvet. But then it hit; I shot up, breathing heavily. I began to examine the small box size suite, a small sink sat in the far corner, and a few seats loitered empty space surround the bed.

The door swung, revealing a nurse. She seemed pleased to see me up, she pressed a button by the door before waltzing over to me and planting herself gracefully onto a ripped blue seat.

"Kyle, I am glad to see you awake, you're lucky to be alive."

I managed to croak out a: "What happened to me?" before she told me in elaborated detail (which I'm not going to write because I can sum it up in two sentences) The lasers simmered all of my reproductive organs, also causing me to produce other ones, some other shit and I'm now a girl.

She tried to ask me what had happened to cause this, but I shook her off, my parents stood in the doorway, reassuring smiles and thankful tears filled their cheeks. Behind them stood the boys, looking greatful.

If we fast forward two hours, my hairs grown an inch, I've lost an inch in height, and I can barely keep my eyes open. Mephisto has shown up and is explaining to everyone that I am a girl. Except _funny_ story that's I've only just clocked onto – they believe it's just external change, and when I become an adult, sex change will be my way of turning back.

With all the hope in their eyes, I daren't tell them it's not an option. They left as the nurse injected me with a sedative. Needless to say – I had a great night's sleep.

* * *

**I've decided to rewrite 'Diary Of a Genderband' so this is the new re-written version. If you can deal with a crappy version, the old ones still up. Well, for now. **

**What are your thoughts and feelings on the new version? Got a better title, summary? I'd love to hear you ideas! **

**(Wee pointer that I changed my pen name from Craigandthoseguys to Kirklame)**


	2. 25th May, 2005

**Chapter Two. **

25th May, 2005.

After successfully ignoring you for almost a week, my mother managed to get me to fill you out again. Forcing me to sit at the table until it was completed, "Memories, memories!" she blabbed on, and she also decided that I should name you. Which is stupid, because you're a diary. But, do you know what's even stupider? Me referring to _this diary _as a being. But none the less, I've decided to call you Steward, on the purposes of keeping my mother happy.

This _is_ stupid.

After being discharged the following morning, my mother took a detour, heading straight into the centre of town. If you haven't clocked on, the town is small and news travels fast. So when I arrived in my all perky glory, people openly starred.

Kenny had given me his smallest shirt, as even Stan's smallest was too large and Cartman was out the question. Stan had given me some tracksuit bottoms, which hung to my hips comfortably after drawing the strings so tight together that the fabric began to ripple.

With my brother's shoes on, we trekked around the town centre for a good half an hour, and collect bits and pieces that were 'essential' although, I really don't think a Sunday dress was really _that_ essential.

I bumped into Craig before we left, "Nice getup, Broflovski" he called after me, and all I could do was tut angrily.

I might have forgotten to mention, that it's my birthday tomorrow, which probably makes everything more stressful for my parents as they will want to get me_ girlier _things, like make-up and perfume, and pop music CD's. Which I guess don't sound that bad, but after spending the last 16 years as a boy, sounds terrifying. Especially, perfume and make-up doesn't aspire to me, hair products only make my hair look greasy – I mean good luck trying to sort my mane out – and I'm more of a _My chemical Romance_,_ Bowling For Soup_, sort of guy. Girl. Sort of girl. _Ergh_.

Now, Steward, don't go calling me things, but I really don't want to make friends with the girls. I've decided not to. I've also decided that I do not want to be friends with Craig _Mother Fucking _Tucker.

But sometimes you cannot pick your friends. I suppose, Stew, this is one of those times.

Now, if you thought walking into school with a skirt on – as your mother had made you – was bad enough. Along with stares and an overprotective Stan. Then it was nothing compared to sitting down next to Craig.

I figured rule number three:

3. Make sure to mention that Craig is an arsehole whenever you can.

**_Part Two._**

After sitting down rather restlessly, I was faced with Craig Tucker; local _bad boy_ and former prankster. _Oh, and major arsehole_. He slumped down his seat rather ungracefully. Turning to me with the larger smile plastered on his cheeks. "So" He begins, quietly enough that the teacher doesn't hear, but loud enough that I can hear his fucking stupid nasally voice. "I heard you had a rather fun run in with a sex change"

"Oh, shut the fuck up." I sneer, but honestly, if the only thing I can do is get angry, I better laugh. So I did just that, muttering: "Can't you tell I'm already having way too much fun with this?" Pointing my skirt as if to exaggerate.

"I think I'm missing out" He frowned playfully. I nodded back, smiling widely.

"Oh, you bet your sweet arse you are!" He chuckled. The lesson began and I began to take notes, not bothered if the conversation would continue or not.

Soon, he leaned over, with the same nasally voice whispering in my ear. "How did it actually happen?"

"Cartman."

"Cartman?

"Cartman." (Dammit, I said I wouldn't mention him, but there he is, his name written three times in a row in my book.)

"How am I not surprised?"

"Because it's Cartman."

"Probably. You know, you're not actually telling how it happened, just who did it to you."

"I was in a cage, and lasers shot at me" I laughed, leaning towards him, as not to be heard by the teacher. I told him everything the nurse told me, not in as elaborate detail but somewhere near too.

"Hold up" he interrupted, "You mean to tell me, that you're a girl on the inside too, but Stan doesn't know? Oh _God,_ that's comedy gold!"

We proceeded to waste the rest of the lesson talking about useless things before the bell rang and break had started, we had begun to walk to the lunch hall together before I was spotted by Bebe and Wendy and dragged helplessly into the girl's bathroom. And Steward, I mean dragged. The offered to help me and give me a transformation.

It was more of them wanting to doll me up, than transform me, but never the less I complied.

I'm going around the day after my birthday they're going to call it a party, help me 'adjust' into the lifestyle. But it sounds like they'll mock me a bit, make me look like a tart and send me home.

Thank god for make-up wipes and my secret stack of boy clothes.

* * *

**How are you feeling about this, because I'm feeling pretty good about this so far.**


	3. 27th May, 2005

**Chapter Three.**

27th of May, 2005.

Hey Steward.

My birthday wasn't much of a success, I mostly received vouchers and small pieces. But she had managed to get a hold of some nice bits and pieces. Mostly makeup and hair tools. That's what I like to call them because they're like tools for your hair.

Oh. Yeah, remember my 'super secret' stack of boy clothes? Yeah, well they apparently aren't so secret. My mother had disposed of them whilst I was at Red's, getting caked in makeup and skimpy clothes that offer no warmth. It was all to form fitting, almost giving me a figure I don't have, or at least didn't know of.

Red's wasn't much of a success.

We listened to the charts until I told them I didn't know half of these songs. Some of the girls looked at me with disappointment, as if it was must to listen to the charts. When I was persuaded into sharing my music, other girls looked generally scared. Although you would've thought, Stew that at least one of them would know who Arctic Monkeys were. Or have even heard of Guns and Roses, don't get me started on Nirvana.

At least Kenny and Craig share the same music taste as I do. Stan mostly listens to the charts, be he can deal with mine and Kenny's tastes, and Cartman? Let's just say that Cartman is an _ABBA_ _boy_.

I guess that brings us to Part Three, huh. You Steward are a lucky man. Well, if you was a man (which neither are at the moment, but don't worry). But either way you are going to be the first to hear of my adventures in a girl's world.

Or what I like to call; The (eye)Shadow Realm.

_Part Three._

With a click of Ma's car door, I was greeted by the brisk winter air of South Park. Not that I'm out to enjoy it for long, quickly ushered inside by Red's Mother; Louisa. With my bag discarded and a warm cup of coffee in my hand, I make my way down the stairs to face the girls. Who are all singing, dancing and talking to one another. They give me hugs and quick 'happy birthdays' before resuming whatever they were doing.

My feet take me to Wendy, who smiles warmly and embraces me, she pulls back, struggling to get a hair of her lip. "First order of business, that hair!" She plays with it before leading me to a small desk set up in the corner, a mirror planted to the wall and straightens waiting to be used. She begins to brush through my mane. Bebe joins us and laughs at my discomfort.

Soon, my hair is a frizzy brushed mess, with parts straightened and others pinned up, Bebe is doing my nails and Nicole joined to plaster stuff on my face.

_Why did I come again?_ Oh, yeah. I remember now. Because I can't refuse them.

Like I can't refuse them when they ask me to try some outfits on, I cannot also refuse when they want to put make up on me and cake me in perfume.

None the less, I return to the car looking dolled up. My ma is a mix between overjoyed and confused. She tells me I look beautiful and I should try to make myself look like this more often. She also makes a point of telling me that my friends won't leave until I open their damn presents.

Which I do, after much discomfort.

"Kyla, why do you look like that?"

"Wow, Ky. Uh, you look… cool."

"Finally, Jew Fag's home, open my present so I can get out of this shithole."

You know, the usual.

I open Cartman's first, thanking him for the perfume which his mum made him buy as he did this to me. _You know, Stew, the girl thing. Yeah, that one_. He leaves immediately after, grumbling a "Fuck you guys" as we part ways. He closes the door with a standard thunk.

Next, Kenny's is my hand, he wiggles his eyebrows inappropriately before I unwrap it. Watercolour paints and a watercolour book. I thank him with a quick hug. He smiles that Kenny McCormick smile and lets me move onto Stan. Between the guitar and Hebrew books and the four holiday tickets. I'm thrilled. He looks so overjoyed and Kenny looks annoyed. But perks immediately after hearing a free holiday might be in order for him.

We chat mindlessly for a while, none of them daring to bring up why I look like I do, as I haven't told them about where I previously was. Or who exactly was I with.

Somewhere between talking about badly scripted porn and Cartman's nose I decide that I should tell them about my little issue.

But, it's okay if you forgot Stewart, as I am going to remind you.

"Guys, I need to quickly remind you of something quickly, because I don't know if you have realised or not and I didn't really, _well,_ up until now how to tell yo-"

"Shut up and tell us Ky. You're drowning on again."

Gee, thanks Ken.

"Remember that one time where I developed these" I gesture my boobs. Kenny looks like he's going to give a cheeky reply but I cut him off. "There is no way of reversing it."

"What do you mean? Have you seen Garrison? I mean he's had several sex changes! We'll just get you one and _boom!_ You're back to normal."

"No, Stan. It doesn't work that way. Before you guys came in the nurse told me that I'm a girl inside too, like; I have a uterus and shit. So, sex change is completely out of the question and I am stuck like this."

Stan's face drops, he looks both lost and mortified. He sighs deeply, lowering his head and rubbing his temples slowly. With a quick rub over his mouth he leans on his hand looking at me "Really?" he questions solemnly.

I nod, not entirely sure why he acting this way. But, hey. It _is_ Stan; over emotional pussy whom happens to be my super best friend. The idea of him finding out he wasn't the first to know flashes through my mind and I know he'd be even more upset if I'm not the one to inform him.

"Other than my family and Craig, no one else knows." I mention trying to lean of the subject completely.

"Craig?" They both question. Up until now Kenny has been oddly quiet, although he enjoys cheeky innuendos, he knows when he should sit up and shut up.

"Why does Craig know?" Stan continues.

_Fucking dick move on my part, dammit. This is all Craig the Arsehole's fault. _

"Uh, we we're talking about it in school because he wanted to know what happened and yeah. It kinda slipped?"

"Whatever, Craig's a dick." Steward. This is _Bad. Bad with a capital B. _

Kenny's quick to change the subject and Stan's quicker to conceal his hurt, which is stupid if you ask me, which you shouldn't.

_Guys_ are dicks.

* * *

**So what are you guys thinking so far? Review please!**

**I have an idea of what size I think she is, (UK) 8 for her top half and (UK) 10 for her bottom. Like she's slim and lean but slightly flat chested but great bum.**

**Size guide for viewers: **

**European 36 38 **

**UK 8 10 **

**USA 6 8 **


	4. 10th June, 2005

**Chapter Four. **

10th June 2005.

I may have missed the first day of the month, but pinch punch tenth day of the month.

The arsehole and I are talking a lot lately, by areshole, I mean Craig; yet, I have to abide by my rules, right?

No talking about underwear (socks included)

Try to talk about Eric Theodore Cartman as little as possible.

Try to mention Craig is an arsehole whenever possible.

I'd say the two of us are getting pretty close. If you want to think like that, we talk and sit together sometimes, waste lessons talking to one another and Craig has taken up few of his old pranking habits.

Steward, don't you _dare_ blame me.

Stan's anger simmer down in the next few days and he doesn't really care now, accepting Craig when he sits with us or I jump ships and sit with him, we sometimes walk home together seeing as our houses aren't that far apart.

None the less, Stan apologised. Which was surprising seeing as I hadn't thought he was do anything wrong, well – apart from being a little dicky. He said he should have been supportive and not acted the way he did. Either way, I gracefully accepted.

School works becoming aggressive as the school nears its close and exams are ready to be taken and cried over.

Rule number four:

Forbidden to talk about exams/schoolwork.

I'm getting into the habit of makeup and hair stuff, managing (barely) to maintain my hair. I've tried to start wearing warmer but prettier clothes which are fun and I think people are forgetting there ever was an old me, isn't that great? Haha, no.

I think I am finally adjusting. I mean; I'm used to the whole, walking down the stairs all weirdly because your boobs jiggle, and looking up at your male friends who used to be the same height as you were and being called a slut by jealous girls. I think I've finally adjusted.

Probably not.

Craig got Clyde to invite me to his annual birthday party, which partakes in drinking games, sexual themes and little clothing. I've never been invited before – well I have, I just never wanted to go – but after mulling it over in my head, I _kind of_ need a pick me up. I am going to get comfortable like this and I am going to _thrive. _I've decided that this party is how I am going to achieve doing so.

Stan, Kenny and Cartman will go as per usual; doing shots deep into the night before parting ways, Stan linked with Wendy, Kenny with a random being, and Cartman will be trying to convince Butters to have sex with him, you know _'for the laughs'._

The girls will wear skimpier clothing than they do to 'dress down' days at school. They will then proceed to try and hook up with a guy, whilst getting intoxicated.

Most people will play games such as spin the bottle and seven minutes in heaven, cut down to one because they're impatient. Once they're over people will start drinking games in a big semicircle and everyone will awake to a limp body lying next to them, a raging headache that can't seem to slide and little orientation.

None the less I am going to flourish off this night (Which is tonight, dare I mention), I will also make sure I **not **wake up to some idiot, and a hangover from hell.

Mostly though, I will make sure my mother never finds out I was at a party that offered alcohol and possibly drugs.

_Stewart! She is not a bitch, she is just protective!_

On the forth Craig came round mine to discuss this agreement that he had set up in his head, he would walk to mine, give my mother a good excuse and pick me up. Together we would walk to Clyde's and spending the night becoming lighter and funnier, until the morning came where he would get his mother to drop me home and once again give another excuse to my mum.

Convincing, _huh_.

"Why do you suddenly care for my safety, Tucker?"

"Since you grew tits."

"Small, tiny, same size as poached egg tits."

"Still tits."

Either way I accepted, excited by the offer that hung in the air. Ready to pouch at each moment my parents and I spend together. Not that I minded much, I kept a stable hold on the conversations we shared, making sure they never progressed far when my friends or school life were mentioned.

I managed to slip out the house the following day with Kenny and the two of us ventured into town together. Between the two of us, we managed to gather some bits and pieces for his mother, whose birthday is on the 16th, and to get Clyde something. Turning up empty handed doesn't look good, but picking up a CD of one his favourite bands was easier than expected.

We bumped into Craig who was at Harbucks, our local coffee shop run by Tweek's family. He was talking to Tweek, it didn't look like anything important as Tweek was still on duty; we moved to a booth after Tweek had left and spoke for a while.

Ordering drinks and chatting mindlessly, we discovered that Kenny still didn't have anything for his mother that was big and expensive and both he and Craig hadn't brought Clyde something yet.

We decided to team up, wandering around town until we came across a Hot Topic, all three of aren't that keen of the shop, but we hobbled in anyway. Craig buys Clyde some lame shitty emo thing to piss him off, and then we leave. Ignoring the neon's and black clothing that hang around the store.

Kenny stops at a corner shop and buys Clyde some of those naughty magazines with the woman sprawled out on the pages in panties and stockings. Even as a boy I never really took interest in those sort of things, I've was too enveloped in school work and the general South Park shenanigans.

But as we catch the bus home, the idea of having those kind of magazines in a bag that Kenny's holding is making me feel weird.

**Just because you've adjusted, doesn't mean you're comfortable.**

**(I said ****_'Panties and Stockings' _****and it's a show and it's so fucking badass and cool and everyone should go and watch it!) **

**Review!**


	5. 12th June, 2005

**Chapter Five.**

12th June, 2005.

As promised I was picked up by the fabulous Craig Tucker, who walked with me to Clyde's house. Although was easier to locate which house was Clyde's from the angry neighbours, loud music, overflowing people and flashing lights.

I'm going to go straight into part number four, as I haven't got much to add here other than the party was amazing and I did everything I told myself I wasn't going to do, even the mother finding out bit, whoops.

_Part Four. _

Once inside the heaving household, I was pulled aside by Bebe who, once in the Kitchen along Stan, Cartman and Kenny (and a few other North Park lad's that I faintly recognised) offered me a small smile and a glass bottle with a bright blue liquid swirling around inside, knowing Bebe and her infectious ways, the night wasn't to go as planned. I accepted with an anxious look, I've never been drunk before. Of course, I've stolen a drink or two from my parents and shared them with the guys, but I've never been out of it.

Unfortunately, she wouldn't let me back down, urging me on with "Its only four percent, it's fine, you can't get drunk of it, _well_, unless you have loads and you're a total lightweight."

I am **not** a lightweight, thank you very much.

I began to sip at the sweet blue liquid, the alcoholic tang wasn't there as it was mostly an overbearing sweet bubble gum flavour. Much to my distaste as I've never really been a bubble gum person. _Shame, isn't it Stew._

I drank it all, and then drank another because the more I drunk the better it tasted. "Proper alcohpop that." She giggled, taking the now empty bottle and placing it with the other two. "Three rules you need to abide by tonight, everyone does. Got it?" I nod. "Right, good. 1. Do not leave your drink, always hold onto it. Got that?" I nod, again. "2. Don't talk to strangers, stick with the people you know."

"Uh, okay? I don't really see anyone here I don't know though."

"No, you know them, but not well enough – don't get touchy with them, ok?"

"Yes, Ma'am!"

She laughed. "Good, now final rule; don't leave without telling three people. Three rules, three people. Three WKD's you've had and now we're going deeper!"

She cheered, waving her hips to the music as she made me up another drink, soon a transparent liquid was offered to me, obviously by the way we started out, it wasn't water. _Oh god, anything but_.

Vodka, she had me drinking vodka. Smirnoff, Jack Daniels, the lot of it. Anything she could find before dragging me towards a giant ring circle that had sprouted between my 11th and 12th shot. We stumbled into a sitting position, letting the game roll.

It was spin the bottle, nothing exciting, nothing new – same old, same old. Whoever spun had to kiss whoever it landed on, then the person it landed it on would spin. If it landed on the same person as before (rare but happening) they'd make out.

Craig had vanished, Kenny had reappeared. The game was light and it hadn't landed on me. So I let it play out, knowing I'd probably hate myself in the morning (Fun fact: I did, and still do.), it still hadn't landed on me and I was slightly restless, wanting the lid to point at me and dictate me their kiss.

Soon, it did landed on me, with a drunk looking Bebe staring at me intently, suddenly feeling conscious and letting the adrenaline pump through me, I leant forward – eyes slipping closed and wanting to get this over with.

She hovered over my mouth before planting a kiss softly on my lips, she lingered before pulling back. Smiling dumbly as whistles sounded, I blushed. It had felt nice.

Stewart, it probably didn't — I was drunk, _remember_.

I had to spin the bottle next, letting it land on Mr McCormick himself. Wiggling his eyebrows at me he leant in, kissing me sweetly before pulling away.

Kissing is weird. I don't know. This is probably why I like to avoid contact with my lips.

The night played out with a load of dancing, chatting and flirting. Although when Craig finally caught hold of me, he did let me tell three people I was going home, even if he didn't let go of my hand. His breath was laced in alcohol and smoke but he wasn't half as drunk as I was.

_Maybe I truly am I lightweight._

Bebe, Butters, Stan. I told them three and they nodded, all giving me a 'be safe, don't do anything stupid, call me in the morning' chat. I stumbled wildly down the road, Craig continuously having to _'sh'_ me for being too loud. I wasn't though, he was just being paranoid.

I don't remember much of the night but I have pinpointed these moments and have put them into chronological order. I guess that night was fun and maybe I was too drunk, and maybe I was too loud.

But probably, in the most common situation; I _thrived_.

_Maybe._

I didn't thrive for too long, because after waking up with a ranging headache, I found out I was in none other's house than _Craig Mother Fucking Tucker's_. Ironic. My rules were: Don't get drunk, don't wake up in someone else's bed, and don't let my mother find out.

Ah, the last one isn't even worth the paper it's written on. She had called numerous times throughout the course of the night and I had answered when I returned to Craig's house. He ended up talking to my mum for me and I just knew that when I got home it be World War 3.

It wasn't, just World War 2 and a half. Possibly three quarters if you want me to go into detail about it.

Once I had woken up from being uncomfortable, I was met with Craig's gaze. He sat on the floor looking amused, cup planted to his lips to his lips. Laptop screen shinning and reflecting of his glasses.

He laughed at me when I grumbled about my head, and after reentering the room with a flannel and a glass of ice cold water, he pressed the cold fabric to my head after folding it. Bringing in a large bowl to dip it in to keep it fresh and cold.

"Lightweight." He called after me when he left to get me paracetamol.

"Fuck you, Tucker!" I screamed back.

_"Language!" _His parents called back.

I swear I could hear him laughing from down there. _Arsehole_.

* * *

**I'm going through a tough time with my title, you guys need to give me some good ideas.**


End file.
